


Valyria

by SaschaStark95



Series: Valyria [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A plus N equals D, F/M, Past Aerys II Targaryen/Rhaella Targaryen, Past Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Past Ned Stark/Ashara Dayne - Freeform, Past Sexual Abuse, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-15 04:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11798157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaschaStark95/pseuds/SaschaStark95
Summary: Valyria, of House Targaryen, is the youngest child of the Mad King Aerys II and his sister-wife Queen Rhaella. Spirited away after the death of her mother and the destruction of her house by Ser Willem Darry and raised apart from her brother Viserys, who was told that she died along with his mother, must face life as a Targaryen alone in the world after the death of her guardian.Taking elements from both the books and the show. Mostly from the books, but aging up the characters to the ages they are in the show.





	1. Valyria I

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ASOIAF/GoT fanfiction. I am taking elements from both the book and the show, but mostly trying to keep to the book. The characters are aged up to what they are in the show. I got the inspiration for this fic from several fan book theories I have recently heard. I do not necessarily subscribe to these theories but I thought that they were rather fun so I figured why not write something about them.

Chapter 1

 

‘Valyria, of House Targaryen, youngest child of the Mad King Aerys II and his sister-wife Queen Rhaella.’ I scroll over Ser Willem’s hand written pages with my ancestry scribbled across. Closing the book with mournful reverence as I adjust the black veil over my face. The old knight having passed not seven days prior left me his very few possessions, one of which being a necklace of Valyrian steel forged to resemble the Targaryen three-headed dragon, that now rested against my chest beneath the bodice of my gown of black silk with a silver chain belt around my slim waist. Looking over my appearance in the silver mirror, violet eyes made red from days of tears stare emptily back. Even my hair that is so silver it appears to be starlight has lost some of its natural shine in the past few days.

 

A loud pounding on my door shakes me from my revelry as my lady’s maid Elaena answers, allowing Ser Daemon Sand entrance. Giving a swift bow with a murmured, "My Princess," he straightens himself up and offers me his arm. "It is time princess." Nodding and taking the proffered arm Ser Daemon leads me out of my chambers and toward the small Sept where Ser Willem rests.

 

The journey from my chambers to the Sept is short but in my grief ridden mind it feels an eternity. I know we are almost to the Sept by the smells that are permeating the area; death and rot mingles in my nose as I fight to keep from putting my handkerchief to it. My footsteps falter the closer we get, as does my stomach as I continue to fight to keep control of my body as it threatens to expel its contents. With a reassuring look from Ser Daemon we finally make it into the Sept and are greeted by seven Silent Sisters as they prepare the body for burial. The sight of the man who was once father and mother; maester and septa; mentor and friend; laying prone on a stone slab with painted stones covering his eyes brings fresh tears to my own. Leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss upon his gaunt cheek, the scents of death and incense surround me, as I say one final goodbye. 

 

"Do you truly believe in the gods, Ser Daemon?" I murmur, my voice refusing to go louder as if speaking to loudly would wake the man on the slab from a nap instead of death. Ser Daemon pins me with a quizzical look and raised eyebrow as he replies, "Of course princess. Do not fear for the good Ser Willem, he is safely within the Mother's arms and reunited with all those he held dear. I imagine right now he is regaling your brother Prince Rhaegar with tales of your wit and beauty." A nod is all I give in response and it is quiet once again. A soft smile passes across my face as I look up at him. "Tales of my wit and beauty, more like tales of what a hellion I was to him growing up. The cook still bars me from his kitchens to this day." A soft chuckle comes from my right as well as behind as I finally take notice of Elaena. 

 

Ser Willem is not long later interred into the crypts and Ser Daemon escorts me to the small gardens for the mid day meal. Though to call it a garden is rather generous, it is more a stone yard with a tall stone wall and a few lemon trees planted to give shade to a small pond that I would splash around in as a small child. Our meal consists of iced fruit as well as some Arbor Gold straight from the Reach. Lifting the veil so that I might properly see Ser Daemon and Elaena, I delicately sip at the wine as we sit in silence as the events of the day weigh on us. 

 

After a few moments too long I finally break the silence. "What shall become of me now? I am an exiled princess that only you and a select few know about that is living in hiding in the very country I was exiled from. If what I hear of the Butcher King is true then should he ever learn of who I am, I would spend the rest of my life on the run from his hired knives.” Ser Daemon steeples his fingers to his lips in a look of someone deep in thought as he mulled over my question. A worried look crosses Elaena’s face as she looks intently at Ser Daemon while resting a hand on my shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze, as if to tell me she will stay by my side. Having given it some thought Ser Daemon looked back up, “There is talk of a Targaryen restoration behind your brother Viserys. If you wished I would accompany you across the Narrow Sea to be reunited with him. Or if you do not wish to make that journey I could take you Sunspear and you could reside with House Martell until your brother finally makes the crossing.” 

 

Mulling over these options a bit I finally reply, “What of the rest of Westeros? Are there any Houses still loyal to my family? What of the Tyrells? They fought for my brother when the Usurper took my brother’s throne. Or anywhere I might go that would not take one look at me and turn me over to the Butcher as a suspected Targaryen?” Ser Daemon lets out a soft sigh as he shakes his head. “Once the war was over the Tyrells bent the knee, as did many others that were once loyal to your family, and I am sorry to say princess but outside of the Free Cities not many are known to be of silver hair and purple eye. One glance at you and many would kill to bring you before the Usurper just for a fat purse and possible title.”

 

Slumping back in my chair, rather unladylike, as I ponder what to do next. A few moments pass when an idea starts to turn in my head. Smiling at Ser Daemon I twirl a strand of hair between my fingers as I take in it’s silver hue. “I hear the Tyroshi mix colors into their hair. Surely if one could acquire a dark mix one could cover up the silver in their hair? That way one could travel in disguise around the kingdoms and not draw attention to oneself.” I reason out loud as Ser Daemon gives an almost incredulous look. “Why in the Seven Hells would you want to do that? Sure there is some merit to this idea, but what is there to gain galavanting around the kingdoms with no plan, besides your death that is and trust me princess when I say that I shall let no harm befall you.”

 

Giving him a soft look I lean forward and gently reach out to rest my hand on his cheek, “My brother has lived most of his life outside of Westeros, he shall never rule the Seven Kingdoms. They say that madness runs in my family. Ser Willem was precise when it came to my education, he made sure I knew why my family fell. I know I am only female, but should the people wish for a Targaryen restoration I would hope that they would choose me. That is why I must go ‘galavanting’ across the kingdom. I need to know that people, for them to know me. Even if the person they know is not Valyria of House Targaryen. Besides, should the people not wish for the return of my family, I would rather not waste my life trying to fulfill a dream that is not my own. So please Ser Daemon, if I can get you the funds, would you be able to find that which I seek?” He simply nods and he brings his own hand up to cup mine before he gently lowers it from his cheek and presses a soft kiss the the inside of my wrist. A soft, maidenly blush courses across my cheeks and Ser Daemon swiftly stands, bows to me, and takes his leave.

 

Once he is sufficiently far enough away Elaena takes the seat he vacated and takes my hands in her own. “Please Princess, do not do this. I think only of your safety when I say this, but you are still so naive to the world. Life is not a song, and there are plenty of bad people out there that would do you harm; knights of your songs included.” she whispers off the last part so softly that the wind carries her words away. Giving her hands a squeeze I reply, “Elaena, I am almost six and ten, a woman bled. I know that there are bad men out there, but there are also good men; men that are kind, gentle, and strong. If I am accompanied by you and Ser Daemon I should have nothing to fear; for you are as fierce and deadly as the Sand Snakes themselves.” Elaena scoffs at this.

 

“Is there nothing I can say that might sway your thoughts and help you change your mind?” My only response is the shaking of my head. “Well than I have no choice but to some along with you princess. Someone has to make sure to keep you alive on this fool’s errand.” 

 

“My dear Elaena, are you saying that Ser Daemon won’t be suitable for the job himself? Surely two pairs of eyes are better than one?” I quip back at her as servants come and clean up what is left of our mid day meal. “Yes but while my eyes shall be on the lookout for danger, Ser Daemon’s will be too enraptured with your backside to notice his head from his ass.” I playfully swat at her as a fiery blush covers my face and I quickly retreat inside and away from her teasing.

 

************************************************************

 

A fortnight passes after putting Ser Willem to rest and I am standing in front of my silver mirror as I slightly admire the new black coloring to my hair. Twirling around in my purple samite gown that features a neckline that plunges down to my navel I take in my appearance; from the new coloring of my hair, styled in intricate braids that seems to be popular in the Capital currently, to the still violet eyes that only seem to be enhanced by the darker color of the few tendrils of hair that frame my face. 

 

I am brought out of my reverie when a maid walks into my bed chambers and lays out a set of traveling clothes; a pair of black trousers, with a red tunic and black vest, along with a black cloak made of the finest material and new riding gloves. Saying my thanks, the maid swiftly curtsies and leaves. With a childlike excitement I nearly rip off my gown and change into my new traveling clothes. 

 

The fit is absolutely perfect I notice as I pull on my riding boots. In the meantime, Elaena joins me, also outfitted in traveling clothes, and she starts to undo all the braids so that my hair falls freely down my back and reaches almost to my backside. Brushing it out slightly, Elaena begins to style my hair in a fairly simple fashion fit for traveling long distances.

 

“There is still time to change your mind my princess,” Elaena offers as she finishes her task. “I am sure that Ser Daemon would also agree with me that it would be for the best. Perhaps you should have him take you to Sunspear and from there the Water Gardens, I am sure you would be much more comfortable that way.” I shake my head as I don my cloak and the pack I stored a few changes of clothes and provisions with.

 

“I need to do this Elaena, I do not know what it is that is compelling me to take on this venture, but all I know is that I must. This is going to sound completely mad, but these past few weeks almost every night I have had the same dream. In my dream I hear a wolf howl and I am surrounded by snow, and instead of feeling cold or scared all I feel is warm and safe. Something, whether that be the gods or some mystical force out there, is telling me that I need to go North. That the thing that I am searching for is there.” She gives me a quizzical look as she looks ready to call the maester to check and make sure that I have not lost my mind.

 

“You are right, that does sound rather mad,” she deadpans. “But if the stories about your brother are true, that he was obsessed with fulfilling prophecies, than who am I to say that your dreams are not trying to tell you something. Though if I might say so princess, mayhaps you should hold off on telling anyone else? They might not be as open minded as myself and truly think you mad!” Rolling my eyes at her I brush past her as I start to head toward the front hall to begin my journey.


	2. Viserys I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viserys has his doubts about what needs to be done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mainly takes place in the head of Viserys. Since we only see things from Dany's POV in the books I was always kind of curious as to what he was thinking all that time. I am no where near Martin's level of writing so I apologize if he seems a little out of character, this is just my interpretation of him. Also I apologize for how short it is. I feel I ended it where is needs to be ended but I might go back later and do some revision.

Chapter 2

 

‘Make her look like a princess,’ my words echo in my ears long after they have been spoken. ‘Daenerys, my sister… must look the part of a true Targaryen princess if I am to gain Khal Drogo’s armies in order to reclaim that which was stolen from my family.’ These thoughts plague my mind day and night as the expectation of a three centuries old dynasty rests on my shoulders. A burden that has been placed there since an early age. I was only eight when the Usurper and his dogs killed my brother Rhaegar at the Trident and the Oathbreaker,  _ Ser _ Jaime Lannister murdered my father, his  _ king _ ! The moment I step foot in Westeros and reclaim my family’s throne I should bring justice to all that had a hand in the betrayal of the Targaryens’ fall; and if I must wed Daenerys to the savage and all allow every man and horse to fuck her in order to obtain my army I shall. 

 

Looking down at my shaking hands I clench my fingers into tight fists in order to quell the tremors. It appears that even an inkling of a thought of the Seven Kingdoms sends my body into rage filled tremors. All my life there have been whispers of the Targaryen Madness, but I am not mad; nor was my father! Those vicious lies told by my enemies in order to their rebellion seem justified when in reality it was the worst form of treason imaginable. 

 

“Your Grace,” the Magister of Pentos, Illyrio Mopatis, calls after me. “A message has just arrived from our mutual friend across the sea.” With that he hands me a scroll with a broken seal with the imprint of a spider. With deft hands I swiftly unroll the scroll, though quite agitated at the sight of the broken seal, and read it’s contents. Scoffing at the words I carelessly throw the scroll back at Magister Illyrio. “Is this some sort of game? A riddle? A Sword has fallen and the Jewel is on the move?” I pace the length of the balcony half a dozen times before stopping my rest my hands against the railing. Taking a few deep breaths to calm the Dragon I finally look to the fat Magister for an explanation.

 

“Tell me Your Grace, if you had two rare jewels would a wise king such as yourself keep them in the same box?” he ponders out loud as he rests his clasped hands behind his back and  moves to stand beside me. My forehead scrunches in concentration as I try to devise the meaning of his words. After a few moments the Magister lightly places a hand on my shoulder as he turns to leave. “Do not fear Your Grace, the girl will do her duty well and you shall have your army.” With that said he leaves me to ponder his words as their true meaning continues to evade me.

 

It is like this that Dany finds me, whether she was looking or not, I do not know nor care to know as I try to drown out the sounds coming from her mouth. Letting out a sound that would be between frustration and anger I turn my fiery gaze on her, stopping the words right as they are about to leave her pert little mouth.

 

“Tell me sweet sister,” I drawl as I lazily push a strand of hair behind her ear, causing her to clasp her hands in front of her and look down as she comes to realize that she has woken the dragon. “What about my stance right this moment tells me that I wish to be bothered by your silly little thoughts hmm? Does it look like I wish to be bothered? Can you answer the insipid riddle the Magister has set before me to answer, with no clue as to what it could possibly mean? You wish to fill the space with your noise, fine tell me the answer that I seek, tell me what he means when he says ‘the Sword has fallen and the Jewel is on the move’!” I grip her chin between my pointer finger and thumb as I force her face up to look me in the eyes.

 

“I… I do not know,” her voice trembles as she continues to defy me and chooses to look anywhere but my face. The anger that has been threatening to boil over all day suddenly comes to life as I let go of her chin and backhand her across her cheek. I watch with an odd satisfaction as she falls to the ground and a small stream of blood wells at her lip and falls down her chin. With tears in her eyes she wipes her mouth and picks herself up.

 

“Let this be a reminder to you,” I warn with as much menace as I can muster. “Do not wake the dragon again dear sister.” With that said I move to leave and head towards the glass doors to Illyrio’s palace, as I turn back to give her one last look. “And for the sake of all the gods do not slouch! You are a princess!”

 

Not bothering to look back to see if she straightened herself up I swiftly make for my chambers in order to prepare for the night ahead. For tonight we would be traveling with Magister Illyrio to Khal Drogo’s manse to present Daenerys to the Khal with the hopes that he will find pleasure in her and take her to wife. With an army of Dothraki at my side on the crossing and the nobles and smallfolk that the Magister swears are loyal to my family; that they secretly drink to my health and embroider Targaryen banners, I shall surely reclaim the Seven Kingdoms. It shall be just as glorious as when my ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror claimed the Seven Kingdoms for himself. Perhaps moreso, for I shall do it without the aide of dragons.

 

These thoughts lead me to think of my poor mother who died birthing a child into this world, whose crown I had to sell in order to feed myself as well as Daenerys. The thing I remember most about her, even after all these years is how beautiful she was, a true Targaryen Queen. As whenever my thoughts drift to my mother, the memories of that night bombard me with a ferocity that terrifies even a dragon such as myself. The sound of Queen Rhaella’s screams as I was forced to wait outside of the birthing chamber still ring in my ears. The frightened looks that the servants and men tasked with protecting us shoot each other can still be seen when I close my eyes. Worse yet, the scent of blood that permeated the room that mother died in still fills my nose; the scents of blood and death intertwining together to leave a lasting memory that does not fade. I can still remember the faces of everyone there that night.

 

My thoughts soon drift to whom I shall choose as my own queen when the time comes, and all I can think is how a Dragon does not lay with the beasts of the field. Who is all of Westeros would be of good enough stalk to be the wife of a dragon? To give me stonge sons that will carry on the Targaryen name and legacy as they are meant to. The bloodline must be kept pure, as the ways of Old Valyria. With no sister to wed that would give me the pure-blooded Targaryen son I so desire, I must debase myself with a beast of the field. The revolting thought shocks me out of my own head as I bolt the door to my chamber as I ponder what to wear this evening, when a strange image enters my head.

 

The image of a man in armor, leaving my mother’s birthing chamber carrying what seems to be bloodied sheets. The way the man hurried without a second thought for his queen or her son now confuses me as I try to recall who that man was and why he was making such great haste out of the chambers. I also begin to wonder why he was carrying, no cradling, bloody sheets instead of a serving maid. Suddenly Magister Illyrio’s words enter my ears. ‘If you have two rare jewels would you hide them in the same box…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to give to much of the plot away so early and I felt that I conveyed at least what I could, at the time being, convey with the Viserys part. To answer a question asked, no Valyria is not replacing Daenerys in this fic. Daenerys will still follow her original cannon storyline, though I am making it so that it happens a little earlier than it happens in the books/show.


End file.
